Rebounding Universe
by DeusExMachina1
Summary: Vulcan has gone. Spock has lost much. Earth holds nothing for Jim, he is alone. The only thing they have left is each other. If the chance came to reclaim dreams they thought lost, is it a miracle or curse? In another universe they are going to find out.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own a budgie, three pairs of jeans and a poster of the Twilight cast but unfortunately I don't own anything in this fic. Shame really.

AN: This is going to be an AU fic. I know it really doesn't seem that way right now, and it's painfully stereotypical, but it'll show its true colours as it goes on in future chapters. This really is my first try at writing fanfiction, so bear that in mind please. Constructive criticism is welcome of course.

This is just a little writing to help get the story going. I myself usually get annoyed having to read prologues, but I felt that I had to do this just to start it off and to organise my own thoughts on it. Hope it's not too bad. Next chapter will be longer, and it'll start properly. Promise! :)

Prologue

It may be a cliché, but it was his eyes that immediately drew his attention. Actually, they didn't draw his attention, they commanded it. They were black, deep like the void of space except with no stars to soften their intensity, they were completely unfathomable. He couldn't begin to guess what he may or may not be thinking, considering, analysing behind those ebony irises. He was alien, and it was impossible to compare his own thoughts or emotions to anything like what his Vulcan friend experienced. Looking into them, the bottomless darkness, pricked by his sharpened eyebrows, they bore into him and he wondered how he felt right now in frightening situation. His own eyes, light blue, watery and very humanly emotive, were full of horror. He couldn't understand Spock, perhaps he never would, and all he knew was that he couldn't lose him. He couldn't lose him.

He whipped around in frenzy, smashing his hands into the control panels that were flashing reds, almost running from one side of the long panel to the other as he darted back and forth, back and forth to desperately, please God, not crash the ship. He prayed to a deity he didn't believe in, and if he could've screwed his eyes up in prayer and fear for his friend and his life he would have. But he had swallow the part of him that wanted to curl up and cry, and play the part of the pilot, to operate the malfunctioning wreckage so they didn't shake apart or crash and die. His eyes were wide open to the terror unfolding around him.

He glanced back, almost subconsciously, and there were those eyes, staring, sucking the lights and fire out the room as his composed black gaze focused on him.

"Jim, you may want to keep your eyes screen."

Too panicked to be embarrassed, he again subconsciously complied with Spock as his eyes snapped back onto the screen of the careening shuttle. Spock was his world. Spock was all he knew now. He was right, he had to concentrate. Spock had a great big green hole in his chest. God it was so hard to concentrate with that information lying dying behind him.

"Focus Jim."

Spock knew him like an open book.

"I'll be fine Jim. I promise. Just focus Th'y'la." His voice was deep. Jim didn't know how he heard him over the cacophony of explosions, but he did.

With all this chaos crashing down around them though, he still felt a bubble of annoyance, as though part of his personality didn't realise there was a crisis going on and his mouth smarted back, "Yeah I am! Just sit back there _quietly_ and try not to die."

There was no answer as he haphazardly steered the craft around and through the plasma shots that were being fired. Violent hits rocked the shuttle. Jim cursed. Despite his words and Spock's well meaning but wrong optimisim, (he knew Spock was only saying it to try and comfort him,) there didn't appear to be any other outcome except death. The walls buckled, groaned and cracked, holes were punched throughout the framework, oxygen was escaping, Jim was lightheaded and the shuttle shields were now done, gone. It was over. Jim clasped eyes with Spock one last desperate time, and everything went horribly horriby wrong.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Still own sod all. Humph.

Chapter One

_New Vulcan Colony: 2 Years ago, a few months after the Nevada Incident_

_Jim was feeling really hot; a boiling heat penetrated through his skin, warming, and then burning his core, until his skin radiated sickly warmth and a sheen of feverish sweat coated his body. His uniform was icky and uncomfortable to move in, the dampness of the sweat making his limbs feel stiff and awkward and sluggish inside the heavy cloth. It was utterly gross, and he was feeling more and more fed up by the second. His lungs were heaving in masses of useless hot air that seemed to do nothing to help him, but he couldn't stop the desperate gasps anyway, hoping that one of them would actually bring him the cool oxygen he craved instead of suffocating him like an invisible damp blanket._

_As soon as he had been transported down onto the surface of the planet he had actually stumbled a little from the shock of appearing in such a hot and hostile atmosphere, suddenly straining his human lungs and testing the limits of his endurance the longer he stayed on the planet in the unbearable fiery climate. It was like he had been punched with heat._

_Spock walked next to him, looking perfectly at ease. In fact, he practically glowed with health at being in this environment. His white skin seemed almost luminous in the light of the two bright suns, which defined the green lined veins lacing under the surface, and his black-as-midnight hair had not a strand out of place, seeming to absorb the light into its inky darkness rather than gloss and shine like a humans would. He was more relaxed than Jim had seen him in a long time. Of course, by definition, a relaxed Spock meant that his spine finally didn't look like it was going to snap like a taunt bow-string (though it was still impeccably straight,) and his hands were slack at his sides with an almost imperceptible swing to them as he walked. This was about as relaxed as Spock got, but it was enough to be noticeable to Jim. He supposed that this must be a relief to Spock, as having been serving on a Starship for months in a regulated temperature about ten degrees lower than his normal comfort level, this must be a pleasant break for him from his version of 'cold'. Of course, Spock's quarters on the Enterprise were regulated at whatever temperature level he wanted, so it's not like he was uncomfortable all the time, but Jim could still feel sympathy with having to get up every morning and face another freezing day on a metallic ship, with no relief till the end of the shift. Yes, Jim could empathize with Spock, though right now he was feeling a bit sorry for himself. Now he was the one out of his comfort zone._

_Jim felt acutely embarrassed as he wheezed and staggered along next to his perfectly composed (and dry) companion. They made their way through the shimmering desert sands, heading to the settlement in the distance. Why Scotty didn't beam them closer, he didn't know, but he sure as hell was going to find out when they got back. Youngest Starfleet Officer, in like ever, and he was trudging along like some fat guy on a mountain hike. He didn't feel particularly Captain-y at the moment, and he was more than happy to blame his Chief Engineer for it. _

_Finally, after walking for at least a mile, he'd reached the point where he'd stood it for as long as he could, and couldn't walk another step in fear of passing out, "Spock…I need…" he gasped helplessly, "I need to stop. For a sec... wait." He stopped walking and swayed dangerously in place for a few moments, hands reaching up to rub at his salt-streaked face. He sank ungracefully onto the dirt track, uncaring of Spock's disapproving gaze or noticing his stern eyebrow raising. He just wanted to get some energy back. Was that too much to ask in this hell's furnace?_

"…_Jim "_

_Though Spock spoke with a clear strong voice, he still sounded a bit hesitant; a pause that was unnatural in his normal speech pattern betrayed his concern._

"…_Jim, it is important that we continue our journey immediately. If we stop even for a short while it is definite that we will be late to the meeting."_

_Jim groaned, and from his sitting position collapsed back onto the dusty ground. His legs bent, knees pointing up at the sky, and lazily slung an arm over his sore eyes. _

"_They'll get over it." _

_Another tense pause… _

…_One Mississippi, two Mississippi…_

"_Jim."_

_He groaned again and peeked out from under his arm, the only meagre source of shade around, and stared up at his pointy-eared comrade._

"_Spock," he took deep breaths, rasping, "I'm tired… I'm thirsty… and I'm really… really hot. I'm staying right here… at least, for a little while." He looked away again, choosing instead to stare blankly at a little clump of withered brown weeds. His pride hurt at acting so weak in front of Spock, but he was feeling really distressed and unwell, the intense thrice-damned __**heat**__ melting away all his self-respect and strength._

_The Vulcan didn't move for a minute. Jim suspected he was probably calculating scenarios in his head. He felt acutely self-conscious; lying on a beaten sand track with a very serious Vulcan standing over him, calmly deliberating about what to do next like a parent would to an unruly child. _

_A few tense heartbeats later, in a silent battle of the wills, and Spock broke the stillness and turned his intimidating black gaze from him, allowing him some small measure of relief. Spock reached for his communicator. _

"_Commander Spock to Scotty."_

_Jim looked around in surprise. What Spock was doing?_

_The communicator made white noise for a few seconds, then the static cleared and Scotty's voice came through loud and clear._

"_Aye Spock. Scotty 'ere. Anything da matter doon there?"_

_Spock's eyes calmly held Jim's as he lay, looking exhausted and confused, in front of him. His hand pressed to the little silver communicator attached to the front of his uniform on his chest, as though he was holding his hand to his heart (though Jim knew Vulcan's hearts were actually in their abdomen. But that's still what it looked like to him.)_

_In Spock's customary clipped tone, he relayed, "It seems there may have been some glitch in the transporter. We have not landed in the right location. Please contact the Vulcan Elders and tell them we shall be approximately an hour late for this reason." _

_Jim's eyebrows raised slightly in surprise, a wave of gratitude instantly covering his features as he understood what Spock was doing. But it was so unlike Spock. If he was pushed, Jim could've made it to the Vulcan headquarters in about twenty minutes, though he would've been a lot worse off for it. He knew this, and he knew Spock knew this too, and he knew Spock knew that he knew this, but the fact that Spock willingly ignored it for him meant a lot to him, touched him. It was puzzling, but, very much appreciated. He gave Spock a small weary smile._

_Watching the emotions on Jim's expression, Spock softened a little. He finished the relay promptly, but his voice didn't sound as sharp as it had before. "Please investigate the cause of the problem and fix it immediately."He broke the connection and dropped his hand._

_They still hadn't looked away from each other. Black and blue eyes remained in unity on the red desert plains. There was a spark in the air, a sense of connection. Both could feel it._

_Jim abruptly sighed, deeply, and closed his eyes, shaking the moment off, and relaxed into the hard unforgiving ground. He tried to bring the uncomfortable, emotion-y atmosphere down to somewhere he could handle. _

"_Thank you Spock. I didn't think you'd do that. I mean, you're usually all for protocol and being punctual and stuff."_

_After a second Spock answered. But his words were almost over-enunciated, as if he had planned them carefully, "As First Officer, it is my duty to ensure my Captain's well-being, and too obey his orders." _

_Instead of looming over him, Jim unexpectedly found Spock couching down next to him, and before he could turn his head or even blink, Spock put the back of his hand on Jim's slick, burning forehead, like he was taking his temperature the old fashioned way. Jim stilled, tensing, almost too shocked to breathe. While to most humans, this would be a complete overreaction to someone touching them, Jim knew better. He knew that to Vulcan's, their hands were considered to be extremely imitate, as they were touch telepaths, and they also used their hands to…well….kiss. That's why they were so paranoid about touching others. _

_Jim's eyes followed Spock's wrist, with tendons like steel, to his arms, pale skin hosting lean muscles like granite, and up…up to once again, find his eyes, trying to subtly gouge his thoughts and intentions. He hoped he wasn't reading his emotions, or worse his thoughts with this simple touch, even if in the back of his mind he knew that the connection wasn't enough for Spock to be able to read him._

_Spock gave practically nothing away, his expression as unchanging as a statue, except for his eyes, the only visibly human feature about him. They were guarded, but the minuscule creases at the corners of his eyes told Jim knew that Spock felt….something. Something good at least. Jim wondered if he would ever completely understand him._

_Spock's voice snapped his mind back into focus. Jim had almost forgotten what they were talking about before Spock's baffling touch, "You are obviously unwell, and in discomfort," he stated, and then took his hand off his forehead, and Jim was sorry for the loss, "and you have made it clear that you do not wish to be moved at this particular time, and I must not disobey my Captain after all." _

_Images immediately flooded Jim's mind of many moments were Spock had either forcefully or subtly rebuked him, and/or challenged his decisions, but he ignored them. _

_He grinned through chapped lips, trying to make the mood lighter, but at the same time silently letting Spock know his message was understood, "Yeah that's right. Obey the master."_

_Almost immediately Jim could sense the protests forming in Spock's mind at the title, but he watched with affection as his friend swallowed the impulse to voice them, and came back with a polite nod of courtesy, replying, "Indeed."_

_He then turned around from his crouched position and sat down elegantly next to him, legs crossed, back poker-straight, and his hands loosely clasped in his lap, still formal even when sitting._

_They stayed like that for ages, in quiet companionship as Jim tried to recuperate some energy lying under the two burning suns of New Vulcan, with his First at his side, patiently waiting. Even when a group of Vulcans walked past, walking into the city the same direction they were, Spock still didn't get up. He glared challengingly at them as they stalked by, drenched in disapproval. When the time came when Jim had to get up, he still felt weak and cooked, but they could move at a much faster pace now that Jim had recovered a bit. They got to the Vulcan meeting at the correct revised time._

_Neither of them forgot that moment on the wayside of the dirt road though, where the bonds of their friendship inexplicably strengthened some, and neither forgot, just how hyper-aware they were of each other's hands the whole time they sat there. _

Jim didn't come around quickly. He was in a swampy, thick dark place inside his own mind, and it was a series of tiny annoyances that penetrated its smothering hold of him; a prickling pain in his leg, like a persistent needle poking him, a beeping sound to his far right, difficult to hear at first, but grew a bit louder with every beepbeepbeepbeep thumping on his abused eardrums. They slowly, ever so slowly prised his consciousness out of the little sleepy cocoon it had made to protect itself.

Alertness came grudgingly. Coherence took even longer.

His eyes saw a few showers of sparks, cracking and spitting every once in a while from a battered console.

His nose felt irritated, a sulphuric smell clung to the air.

He felt…extremely achy. Everywhere.

He coughed, feeling spit fly from his lips and his lungs spasm painfully.

Lying completely still, too out of it to be able to properly panic, or move, his voice grated out a frightened scratchy cry.

"Spock?"

_AN: This really didn't come out like I had hoped, but I just got so fed up with it I thought I might as well put it up and see what happens. _

_Creative criticisms and comments are always welcome. xxx_


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